Perfect Storm
by Cipher Lief
Summary: "Gotham has a way of twisting the things you love—turning them against you." - The Bat family strives to endure difficult times and circumstances when they lose one of their own, possibly forever. - "When you die in Blüdhaven—going to Hell is considered a promotion." SubGenres: Angst/Tragedy/Family/Friendship
1. The Perfect Storm

| _The first setting is that of the future, thus the reason for the time slot being set as 'Unknown,' while the second setting mentioned, 'June 16th,' is where the story starts. Enjoy._

* * *

.The Perfect Storm.

* * *

| Unknown, **UNKNOWN**

| _Unknown_

The ruthless rain rushed chaotically from gray, gloomy clouds, which spanned across the skies, whipping about frantically as it thoughtlessly drowned the city. Air was hard to find, however blame did not entirely rest on the inclement weather and this, Batman knew. What made him pause, what instantly made his usually warm blood freeze, was the quandary he found himself.

"Whoop, oh, whoop-sa-daisy, whoop." The Joker mocked as he erupted into a loud cackle and pulled Nightwing's exhausted body—which he had been guiding and teasing over the ledge of a twenty-four-story building—under his arm and against his chest. He embraced the younger, semi-cataleptic vigilante with phony concern. The two stood—rather the Joker stood and carried Nightwing's dead weight—uncomfortably close to the ledge.

"Let him go." Batman growled and his blood skipped warm, entering magma-like temperatures despite the cold stinging rain that feel endlessly.

"Sharing is caring, Batsy," The Joker answered. He cupped Nightwing's cheek with his gloved hand. "Look at that face." He spoke in a cutesy, child-like manner and turned Nightwing's head so that Batman could view his face in the light pouring from a nearby sign. As to what the lighted sign read, Batman had no care.

He inched forward, as did Robin who stood beside him—he nearly forgot he wasn't alone. Raising an arm across the Boy Wonder's chest was enough to hold him back; however, Nightwing's battered face that was evidently swollen, lacerated and painted with welts might have been the main reason for his limited mobility.

"Let. Him. Go." Batman reiterated his demand. His eyes narrowed beneath the cowl, his mouth nearly formed a snarl yet his teeth clenched tightly, stiffening his jaw. The Joker frowned at him with a bored expression.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you to be careful of what you wish for?" The Joker asked. He released Nightwing's face and snapped his fingers. From behind the shadows, light signs and chimneys, various bodies staggered forward Batman and Robin, moaning. "But, since you asked SO nicely…" The Joker laughed as he released Nightwing.

"No!" Batman yelled in chorus with the lightening brightening the sky. The adrenaline he had been holding unleashed itself as he sprang forward. However, time was out of place.

One, one-thousand.

Batman felt his body was heavy and utterly slow. The raindrops clouded his vision, creating a gray scratchy canvas but through the lines he watched, as Nightwing plummeted in fast-forward motion, gravity embracing his ex-partner all too openly.

Two, one—

The deafening detonation of thunder consumed the atmosphere, silencing the world; at least, what Batman felt had once been his world. Various vehicles honked their horns and screeched to a stop. The crashing metal was endless and shook Batman's insides. The Joker's laughter rang in his ears but that slowly died as he approached the ledge and peered down at the scene from twenty-four-stories high.

In the mess of rain, vehicles and people, Batman saw that Nightwing's broken body had embedded itself on the roof of a hearse. His jaw dropped.

* * *

.Prologue.

* * *

| Unknown, **GOTHAM ****CITY**

_| June 16, 22:15 EST _

"It began with just one." The man whimpered. He shivered and then plastered a smile along his thin lips. A potato sack-like mask covered his face so none took notice to his facial animations. "He's like a gremlin!" His eyes widened in fear but refocused when he said, "Except you punch him and make him bleed only to find you've used the formula for him to germinate more hindrances." He huffed out his shivers while his eyes closed and rubbed thlle length of his lanky arms vigorously. Despite his obvious uneasiness, he was contented.

"Exactly." This man spoke with a cool yet gruff tone. He raised a thin cigarette to one side of his mouth and enjoyed its flavor and effects. He slowly released the unneeded smoke from his lungs as his eyes traced the flow of rain slipping downward along the glass of a nearby window.

"Ha, not only that, but, ha-ha, I heard Batsy's gone…heh, international baby." Smacking a deck of cards into his left palm, this man frowned deeply but that wasn't enough to hide his undying smile. He leaned against a rickety pool table.

"Do you suppose he's considered deserting Gotham?" This man spoke with an icy and distant tone.

"If only…" The man took another drag of his cigarette. Lightning flashed in the far distance. "But that wouldn't be too fun." He exhaled as the thunder began to roll evenly.

"No." The man continued to slap the deck of cards into his hand. "He wouldn't leave. He can't." He shuffled the deck. "I won't let him." He whispered to himself with a chuckle.

"If the Bat's spreading his wings, it can only mean that he'll now cast a bigger shadow." A short man with a beak-like nose straightened himself but leaned forward on his black umbrella. His beady eyes fixed on the cardholder. "But explain this 'international' nonsense." He adjusted his monocle. "What's he done?"

"Well Pengers, he's—" Another stopped him.

"Cloning!" Whimpering as he had before, the masked man finished his interruption with hushed laughter.

"Shut up." The deck of cards bent in his tight grip as he looked at the masked man. Once he settled, he unbent the deck and began fingering through it, finding the two cards that most disposed of in standard card games. What a waste.

"He's what?" The man eyed his cigarette. It had grown quite short. He took another drag and turned from the window.

"He's…" The man tested his words and eyed the masked man who remained quiet. "Been training a few soldiers." He placed the fifty-two cards into his plum-colored jacket pocket.

"More Robins?" A female spoke this time. She ran her fingers through her hair and then styled it onto her left shoulder. She crossed a soft greenish tinted leg over her other that was of the same hue. "They're just children." She rolled her eyes. "And you already took care of one. The others should still have nightmares." The room quieted with reflection. The woman then chuckled, interrupting their reminiscing. "Baby-face here even tried at one." She looked at the man by the window. "As we all know though, it was just a _half_-baked effort. Look at where that Robin ended up. You sure you were using that bat right?"

"Shut your pie-hole." The man said coolly from the window. "It's more than what you've done." His voice suddenly rose. "Using those love spores because you hardly look human anymore." He said, looking at her green tinted complexion. "Can't get a date any other way?"

"You want to talk about looking _human_?" She remarked, perking up and placing a gloved hand on her hip.

"Ha-ha! Children, children!" The cardholder interjected before their argument further escalated. He tapped the two joker cards against his temple. "Let daddy finish his story." The man by the window and the woman both glared at each other before tearing their eyes off one another to look at the smiling man.

"Thank you." He cleared his throat. "So, like I was saying. He's training an army and they're _not_ baby birdies." Twirling the cards between his fingers, he flicked one and watched as it glided on top of the flooring. "They're bats."

"That can't be good." The woman spoke again, turning her head.

"I wonder." He said with an unsuspected laugh. The card he threw had stopped just under the masked man's foot. The masked man jumped and shivered from either fear or excitement; perhaps both.

"So, that's why we're here isn't it?" There was a short pause. "To do something about it?" Silence still reigned, save for the falling rain and crashing thunder that sounded sporadically. "That's sweet and all, but I'll be pulling out of this. I just got out of Blackgate." The woman uncrossed her legs and slid down from her stool. Her heels clicked as she began walking away from the group of five men. "I wish you fellas luck."

"Wait. Wait doll." The man pocketed his card and pushed away from the pool table. It swayed and creaked.

"This could cause us all a heavy blow." The short man with the umbrella stated.

"Then how about we leave it to chance?" The man by the window suggested after discarding his cigarette. With his hand now free, he revealed a silver coin.

"For just one person?" The man with the icy voice looked at the woman despite his question meant for the man by the window.

"No. We'll make it interesting: All or nothing." The man stepped forward, away from the window, crushing his cigarette under his foot as he made his way to stand in the middle of them, under the sole ceiling light. The coin glided effortlessly over and under his knuckles.

"Oh, that's exciting." He card holder laughed and skipped over to the coin holder in the two-tone suit. "Let's do it."

"I suppose I'll concur." The shortest man picked away at a loose thread on his black tuxedo. He then scratched his head, off centering his black top hat. He readjusted it soon after.

"Same."

"I'm in." The lanky man hugged himself.

"How about it?" The man displayed the coin for the redhead near the door.

"Fine." She gave in after a few moments. How could she not when _he_ was asking?

"Then here goes…" He flicked the coin off his thumb. All eyes watched the coin rise and then begin to fall. "Heads all, tails nothing." He caught the coin and flipped it onto his backhand. He then lifted his hand to reveal what chance had decided for them.

"What is it?" The lanky man inquired. There was a moment's pause.

"All." The coin holder informed. Half his face twitched.

"So, now what?" The female heaved a sigh. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking down at the pea green apparel that tightly adorned her body. How did she easily allow a coin toss to decide for her? She looked up at the sound of warped laughter.

"Ha-ha-ha!" He walked towards the window, passed the coin holder. Lightning etched itself on the dark sky in the far distance. "We play our parts to create the _perfect storm_!" He paused to chuckle lowly. "First," he continued. "A few tricks to tease our audience! Ha-ha-ha!"

The five looked at the green haired man by the window in his purple suit, with question in their stare. His laughter continued. It echoed within the room as the thunder rolled rather enthusiastically as if laughing along with him, already conversant of his forthcoming plans.

* * *

_| To be continued..._


	2. Birthday Surprises

_| Enjoy._

* * *

.Birthday Surprises.

* * *

| Wayne Manor, **OUTSKIRTS OF** **GOTHAM ****CITY**

| _July 19, 21:47 EST_

"Happy Birthday, Timothy." Tim turned to the man he had tried to pass that now held his hand outstretched towards him. He didn't recognize him or any of the others within his small group: two women finely dressed with their hair elegantly styled and another man who was just as showy.

"Thank you." Tim pulled his lips into a smile as he shook the man's hand. This man, like most of the other male guests within the Wayne Manor, wore a pricy looking suit. He had his thinning and graying hair combed to the side that barely touched his large rounded ears.

"Congratulations on another year. Enjoy these teenage years, young Wayne. You will have to face the real world soon. Good luck to the future." The man finished his seemingly computerized dialogue and lightly patted Tim's shoulder. Tim nodded and spoke his thanks once more. If only this man knew just how much of the _real _world the adolescent had already seen, he'd might be surprised of 'young Wayne' and rethink his preprogrammed statements.

However, without further exchange, Tim made his way through the crowd of people, gathered in the manor's main dining hall, who also spoke their recycled birthday wishes to him as he passed. He did his best to return their programming with his own preset formalities of smiles, nods and verbal gratitude. Once he made it into a small clearing, he sighed.

If it were not for his new additional surname—Wayne—he had no real affiliation with any of these guests. Yet, if it were not for that very surname, then he would not have this large social gathering for his birthday, amongst other things where 'home' and 'family' were listed. He was appreciative of the party but still felt it was a bit over the top. He wasn't one for large gatherings unless of course, if he knew the individuals.

Speaking of which, he was waiting for someone but doubted that that person could make it. He glanced at the watch on his wrist.

| 9:51 PM EST

"I hope you're pleased with this, Drake." Tim cast his eyes downward to the owner of this refined yet vaguely impudent tone of voice. He was not waiting to see this person. This person he could do without seeing for the remainder of the party, longer, preferably.

"Damian," Tim said flatly. The younger boy arched a brow at Tim's flat tone. '_Damian_,' Tim thought with a more annoyed inner voice. Just the sight of Damian made him a bit displeased.

The child had slightly ample cheeks and monastral blue eyes that were not quite as dark as his father's eyes. His short, spiky styled black hair reflected his temperament: abrasive and impulsive. He wore a black suit and a white collared shirt with a tie neatly around his neck. He had his hands stuffed into his front pockets and leaned his weight onto his right leg.

"Because, if I am detained from engaging in tonight's patrol due to this _unpleasant incident_," He paused to survey the occupants gathered in the room and to allow Drake to absorb his words, which wouldn't take long. Tim's Yale blue eyes subtly intensified. '_I got to him already?'_Damian thought. '_Good_._'_ "You can be sure that I _will_ stab you, Drake." Damian finished. Whether it was because of the violent promise of stabbing the older boy or of considering Tim's birthday celebration as an 'unpleasant incident,' mattered little to him as he felt a small success in pestering his legally recognized brother.

Indeed, legally recognized; Tim wasn't truly legitimate like Damian was, in spite of everything.

Tim's eyes narrowed. "Try it and I'll break your face, _again_." He smirked at the memory but this expression was short-lived. Like Damian and his father, Tim wasn't one to smile often; however, because of his knowledge of courtesy and the requirements to honor his adopted father's name, he spewed smiles left and right as if they were candy.

Damian's eyes flickered with anger. He didn't know what bothered him more, Tim's obvious enjoyment and pride in nearly breaking his face once before or the fact that, for tonight only, Tim's rare smiles were abundant and reminded him of another lawful member of his 'family' unit. He opened his mouth, ready to spurt a witty response but before either of the two could escalate their squabble, an older man approached the siblings.

"Young Masters," the man interrupted. He spoke calmly in his refined English accent.

"Pennyworth," Damian muttered under his breath. He glanced at the older man before looking the crowd over yet again, searching. His father wasn't amongst any of them. Not that he particularly wanted to see the man. Ever since his father's return from a near yearlong 'business trip,' the man was different. Damian had an idea of why that was. _'Grayson_.' He accused. Grayson was probably the only person that his father couldn't suitably manage his emotions with, even though his father often spoke of curbing such sentiments.

"I beg your pardon, but it would appear that you've a guest waiting, Master Timothy." Alfred informed. He wore a neat black suit and pants, a gray vest, a white collared shirt with a black bowtie and lastly, a pair of shiny black shoes. He held his left arm out that had a folded white cloth draped over it with a silver platter balancing on the palm of his gloved left hand. It was a mystery as to what was on the platter. A matching and shining silver cover safely concealed what Alfred held on the expensive dish.

"Oh, okay. Thanks Alfred." Tim gave a fleeting look towards Damian who he saw was mumbling to himself before turning to follow Alfred. "You always come through, Alfred, and in the nick of time." Tim admitted quietly once they left the main dining hall to the calm atmosphere of the antechamber. He couldn't imagine what he and Damian might have done to each other if they had continued their squabbling.

"That's usually true, sir," Alfred agreed as the two began their venture across the antechamber towards the opposite wing of the manor. "However, as pleasant as it is to hear that, the credit this time perhaps should be given to your guest." Alfred stated plainly. After they had traveled down a few hallways, they stopped once reaching the wooden kitchen doors. Alfred motioned Tim to walk through.

"The kitchen?" Tim asked. What sort of guest would he have waiting in the kitchen? Surely, Alfred could have brought the guest out to the main dining hall or in the least, arranged a more suitably setting. Tim shook his head. That wasn't his normal thinking process. That was more how Damian would think: spoiled and privileged. He shivered. He'd been living with the child for far too long.

"Indeed. He said he was thirsty." Alfred blinked. "Right inside, sir." Alfred soon left, leaving Tim to push the doors open.

"There he is," a joyous voice announced. "Happy Birthday Timmy!" Tim had little chance to recognize his visitor or respond to the birthday wishes as two arms warmly embraced him. It didn't take more than that though, for Tim to name his visitor.

"Dick!" Tim chuckled hesitantly as he slowly brought his arms around his legal brother. '_Again with the touching._' He thought.

"Surprised?" Dick asked as the two pulled away. He held a water bottle in his left hand.

"Yeah," Tim said as he tried mirroring the smile Dick freely displayed, but that was impossible. No one had a smile like Dick Grayson. "I thought you couldn't make it." It felt like such a long time that he last saw his brother. Tim's heartbeat was content for once, in what felt like ages. He felt at ease and lightly sighed as he swept his eyes over his brother. '_Straight from work?_' Tim effortlessly deduced.

It was obvious Dick came straight from his work. He didn't look classy like the other guests who all wore dressy business suits or sassy dresses. Instead, Dick wore a navy blue zippered tactical windbreaker, navy blue tactical pants and some style of athletic oxfords, black. On his right thigh, over his pants, was a tactical holster platform, empty of course. As to where the gun was, Tim assumed Dick didn't bring it with him into the manor. Bringing in a firearm went against manor policy; however, Alfred was the only one exempt from that.

"Yeah, well, you have Alfred to thank. Or I wouldn't have known about this _little_ party." The two shared a small laugh, mostly Dick while Tim continued with his hesitant chuckles.

Bruce had arranged for the social gathering for his adopted son's birthday. The billionaire had extended invitations to those in his company. However, a birthday party was just the façade as the true reason—like most things with Bruce, everything came down to business—was that after his near eighteen-month absence, the billionaire had to convince the people that he was not dead.

"Oh," Tim continued. "So, you haven't spoken to Bruce yet." He stated as his smile began to fade all too quickly. '_There's still friction between the two of them._' He concluded before Dick's verbal confirmation. His older brother's demeanor was answer enough.

"Not yet." Dick replied honestly and plainly. He kept a small smile on his lips despite the quieting atmosphere at the mention of Bruce. He took this time to examine what the past year had done for Tim. Overall, the teenager looked healthy.

Wearing a white collared shirt with a dark blue blazer and matching pants, Dick managed to notice how much wider Tim was in the shoulders. He wasn't as scrawny looking and had gotten a bit taller too. Dick though, still stood a few inches over his brother. Tim's curtained haircut was familiar, but had a more stylish edge to match his face shape and overall maturing features. Like Damian, Tim was still somewhat baby faced.

"What's that?" Tim diverted the attention to a small colorfully wrapped item on the counter. A pink bow sat heavily in the middle of the gift.

"Ah, good eye, Bill Nye."

'_Bill Nye_?' Tim thought.

Dick went to the counter and exchanged his water bottle for the gift. "This is for you, birthday boy." He handed the present to Tim who accepted it suspiciously "Sorry about the bow."

"No, it's fine." Tim said as Dick chuckled. Tim looked down at the wrapped mystery and then to Dick who ran his hand through his short dark hair. '_It's a lot shorter_.' Tim noticed and eyed his brother's hair that appeared newly cut in a fauxhawk style. He soon pried his eyes away and said, "Thank you." He stared at the bow, which was as large and as bright as the wrapped gift. "But Dick," he blinked and then continued, saying, "You didn't have to get me anything." Tim turned the item over and felt its weight. He was curious as to what it was and gave it a light shake. There wasn't much sound.

"Now you tell me?" Dick jokingly acted annoyed. "Come on, open it." He said excitedly.

"Now?" Tim looked at his brother's cobalt blue eyes. The two of them might pass as blood brothers if it weren't for Dick's olive complexion. Tim was much paler but not frighteningly so.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Well, I guess since no one's here." Tim shrugged and then walked to the counter. He proceeded to open the gift, placing the pink bow on the counter. It seemed Dick used regular tape to attach it on the gift and not the built-in designed adhesive of the bow. Dick took the bow and began fiddling with it. Tim eyed him before picking at the folding of the wrapping paper, being careful not to rip the obnoxious colored paper.

"Tim," Dick started. "You can rip the paper. I'd like to see you open this _before_ your next birthday." Dick informed him. Tim chuckled and apologized before ripping the paper and revealing the gift.

"An IPod?" Tim said, trying to sound surprised and happy all at once. He was of course, but he already had an IPod, though it wasn't currently working, he could fix it somehow. Tim felt bad that Dick, who had not only risked visiting him at the manor, but had also paid for a gift. Dick wasn't a billionaire as Bruce Wayne was and needed to devote any of his spare time to protecting Blüdhaven. After all, it was a dangerous place for one vigilante alone.

"Yeah." Dick beamed. He didn't seem bothered by the things Tim thought of like money and time. As far as Dick was concerned, he was spending both appropriately and had no regrets. "I figured you were missing yours after what happened with Damian." Dick leaned his elbows on the counter and glanced at the pink bow in his hand.

"What do you mean after what happened with Damian?" Tim asked with minute perplexity and concern.

Dick looked at him. "I heard you had dirty music on there." He attempted to be lighthearted but Tim suddenly wasn't in the mood, Dick could tell. "So Damian put it in the dishwasher, or maybe not?" Now he was hesitant just as much as Tim was.

"He what?" Tim looked sharply at Dick, blinking a few times. '_Is that why I couldn't get it to power up?'_

"Uh, that's what Alfred said. You guys were having an argument and Damian took your IPod and… put it in the dishwasher…?" Dick straightened himself. He had a weak smile. '_Crap.'_

"Shouldn't the alarm system be sounding off? I thought you weren't allowed here Grayson." Damian said as he suddenly entered the kitchen. The door behind him slowly closed.

"Damian!" Dick said, turning to look at his youngest sibling who had a suspicious smirk on his face. '_Perfect timing_,' Dick thought sarcastically but genuinely smiled at the young boy, pleased nevertheless to see him again. "Yeah, so, let's keep that a secret for now, okay?"

"I'm not indebted to you in any way, Grayson." Damian informed him callously. The sight of his brother didn't anger him, but it didn't please him either.

Damian had told himself that like his father, he too should be furious with Dick simply because he left. After all the time they spent fighting crime, living together and building trust, after his father's return, Dick left them both. Yet for some reason Damian couldn't fully commit to those feelings, as if his subconscious knew Dick had no mal intentions in his departure.

Damian cocked a brow, rousing from his thoughts and growing wary of Dick who smiled awkwardly as if he knew Damian's musings. '_Impossible_,' Damian thought, before saying, "But we'll see." He tore his eyes from his oldest brother to look at Tim who was looking down at something. Damian smirked. "Is that all Grayson could afford for you? Hm, seems to be about all you're worth." He took a few steps forward to identify the gift. "Ah, you have yourself a replacement device. Perhaps you'll take better care of your personal belongings this time." He said smugly.

"Damian," Tim began. "It is true you put my music player in the dishwasher after that fight last week?" He finished, surprisingly calm.

Damian didn't waste any time in answering. "It's likely," he replied cynically.

Tim knew what Damian really meant by his words. He could almost hear Damian's aristocratic voice speaking the true meaning inside his head. '_I sure did, Drake_. _What are you going to do about it?_'

"What took you so long to figure that out, _detective_?" Damian said mockingly.

'_Crap_," Dick thought again. '_Referee duty already_?' He sighed. '_No place like home_.' He had hoped that Tim and Damian would get along better after all their time spent together but they seemed to grow worse. It was little cat versus littler cat.

"Damian, are you kidding me?" Tim spoke a bit louder. '_He's the son of the devil, I swear!_' Tim took a step forward but Dick had placed an arm across his chest, stopping him. Damian blinked and stuffed his hands into his front pockets. Tim looked up at Dick who was looking at Damian with firmness.

Dick then turned to look at Tim. "You can't do much with the past but learn from it," Dick stated.

Damian sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. '_How corny can he be?_' He thought.

"You have a new IPod now," Dick continued, ignoring Damian. "Take care of it." His face softened. "Happy Birthday." Dick lowered his arm once he was sure Tim wouldn't lunge himself at Damian.

Tim sighed heavily, trying to regain composure. He quickly calculated that if Dick's IPod drowned in the dishwasher by Damian's sinister hands, then maybe his older brother would be acting a bit differently. '_No_.' Tim gritted his teeth, knowing that that was unlikely. Dick wasn't very materialistic despite his Gypsy heritage.

"You're taking his side," Tim stated, looking away. '_Wouldn't be the first time you do that_." He thought, remembering how Dick had chosen Damian as his Robin while Bruce was away on 'business.' He couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy towards Damian at that time. Nothing would have been cooler than to work alongside Dick than as his Robin. Tim admired Richard Grayson. Always had ever since Tim was a toddler and first saw the Flying Graysons at the circus and his admiration continued when he found out Richard Grayson was Robin, the Boy Wonder.

"No," Dick said. "I'm not." He placed his hand on Tim's shoulder, squeezing it gently for his brother's trust. That was something he never wanted to let go of, ever.

Tim looked at him and nodded. He knew better than to think Dick was taking sides because the circus boy created his own side. He was his own person and that was obvious from his being Robin to his transformation into Nightwing and even his interpretation of Batman, which was a responsibility, a character even that he covered while Bruce was away and unable to protect Gotham personally.

Dick fought differently but of course shared a similar crime fighting theory to Bruce; in that he never sought after killing the criminals, save for one instance... However, Tim wasn't going to think of that time and proceeded with his thoughts. Richard took bigger risks than Bruce did and was _organically_ very showy, from his natural eye-catching pretty boy face—though not as delicate as the professional models—to the lithe and elegant movements of his body when fighting.

To put it simply, Dick effortlessly somersaulted through life, Tim believed.

Perhaps this was reason for Bruce's banning him from the manor. Bruce, rather Batman, was very dominating at times and when he found he couldn't be in command of the first Robin, when he found that he had pulled the leash so tight that it snapped, he just didn't know what to do other than to sever ties and keep Dick away from the nest. It was a classic prideful father-son quarrel and the quarrels lately, seemed to be never-ending.

Damian shook his head at them and seemed a bit disappointed that he couldn't cause a greater reaction from Tim. '_Damn Grayson_.' He thought. '_Damn Drake_.' It was just like Drake to be dramatic when his idol, _Richard Grayson of the Flying Graysons_, was around. The computer geek would do almost anything to grab the frivolous acrobat's attention. Even break character and act a bit more selfishly and childishly.

"So!" Dick announced, once things had somewhat settled. Damian wasn't instigating Tim any further and Tim wasn't allowing his emotions to take control of him. "On with the next order of business..._Revenge_…" Dick was eccentric but jokingly so.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Grayson, which is quite infrequent." Damian smirked. "But weren't you the one that just said you can't do much with the past but learn from it?" Damian folded his arms across his chest and pressed his lips together.

"True." Dick smiled, touched that Damian quoted him so well. "But I'm technically the oldest." Dick replied.

"What does that mean?" Tim asked.

"Means _I_ do what I want." Dick smiled and then looked at Damian. "It's nice to see you, Damian." He said rather calmly.

Damian's arms quickly unfolded and his hands rose in defense as Dick approached. "Grayson don't even think—"

Dick ignored Damian's warning as he swiftly pulled the small boy to his chest, embracing him just as warmly as he had Tim. "I missed you, Damian," Dick said as he struggled to keep Damian against his chest. The boy was thrashing, making it difficult for Dick to give him a proper hug. He held on though, knowing that what he was doing was highly hazardous.

Tim watched the two, amazed that someone could get so close to Damian without instantaneous injury. Rather, how someone would even want to get close to the devil child. '_Dick's not like us_,' Tim thought. He gritted his teeth before looking down at the IPod. '_I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing_.' He allowed a small smile to his lips as he heard the muffled curses and threats Damian spoke into Dick's shoulder.

"Arh!" Damian managed to push away and quickly straightened his ruffled suit, wiping and brushing away the 'Grayson' germs. Dick pressed a hand to Damian's head and ruffled his spiky hair. Damian twisted away, swatting Dick's arm before throwing a punch to his abdomen.

"Oof!" Dick grimaced. '_He's stronger_.' He thought.

"Dick, are you alright?" Tim asked, wide-eyed and failing to hide his amused smirk.

"Fine." Dick quickly responded as he noted Damian suddenly spun. The child was attempting another attack and Dick knew something more violent was coming. He sidestepped easily away from Damian's horse kick, and then returned to Tim's side near the counter. Damian looked flustered. His small hands clenched tightly into fists as his shoulders quivered.

Somehow, this made Tim smirk larger. It was his birthday. All his brothers were here and he had a new IPod and Damian's frustration as gifts from Dick. He chuckled but that silenced as Damian turned and approached Dick, obviously not finished with his pursuit of vengeance on the acrobat.

"Ahem, pardon me, gentlemen." The three siblings froze. Dick and Tim each held one of Damian's wrists while Damian had his left leg wrapped behind Dick's calf with his right foot pressed against Dick's kneecap, positioned to obliterate his older brother's patella in one motion. He would have done it already if not for Dick bending his knee. Damian struggled to pull Dick's leg from underneath him so that it would straighten and evidently snap right at the kneecap.

"Alfie!" Dick looked up grinning. '_Thank goodness. My knee!_'

"Good evening Master Richard." Alfred offered his greetings with a raised brow as he watched Dick bring his hand to Damian's face. The older boy seemingly measured the length of the child's face and then took that measurement to Damian's leg. He then proceeded and gave the boy's thigh a strong squeeze.

"Grayson what are you—heh-ha-ha!" Tim and Alfred's brows rose high in astonishment at the sound of innocent childish laughter. They never believed such a sound could escape Damian.

Alfred looked to Dick, taking notice to Tim who was also staring at him. '_The things that boy can achieve.'_Alfred thought, shaking his head.

'_Bingo_,' Dick thought. He wasn't aware Damian would be ticklish, let alone could be. '_Learn something new every day.' _He was still grinning.

Damian loosened his fatal grip on Dick's leg and planted his feet on the floor. Dick and Tim released his wrists, allowing Damian to straighten his suit. He began swearing that he would claim revenge on the two and huffed out an aggravated breath. The unsuspected laughter that escaped him made him more agitated than the interruption itself, however. He touched his thigh akin to how Dick had, and was surprised to find that it didn't cause him to laugh. His eyes narrowed.

"Spirit fingers," Dick whispered. Tim coughed, trying to hide a smile behind his hand. Damian glared at the computer geek.

"Master Damian," Alfred quickly interrupted. "Master Bruce requests your immediate company in the main hall." Alfred informed. Damian's face was flushed with frustration and embarrassment. "Before you join him, might I suggest—?"

"**No**!" Damian barked loudly. The kitchen quieted for a moment.

"No, sir?" Alfred asked. He looked at Dick who had his lips pressed together. Dick's face cringed.

"I don't require any of _your_ suggestions, Pennyworth." Damian never stopped glaring between Tim and Dick who had just elbowed Tim. The birthday boy was attempting to smother his sudden laughter.

"Ow." Tim breathed and cradled his left side. He turned away from the three, gritting his teeth but it wasn't enough as he still fought to stifle his laughs and clutched the IPod to his chest. He seldom found himself in such a state but when he did, sure enough, Dick was usually the one who managed to bring him there.

"You should take Alfred's suggestion." Dick informed. "He's been doing this a long time. No offense Alfred."

"None took, sir."

"_No_." Damian said through gritted teeth. Alfred's brow arched as he looked from Damian to Dick to Tim and then back to Damian.

"Fine. Leave him Alfred." Dick said with a shrug. "He'll learn the importance of your suggestions." He coughed and folded his arms across his chest, obviously trying to swallow his chuckles.

"Very well, sir," Alfred readily agreed after a few moments. He pressed his lips together. "Master Damian, this way." He opened the kitchen door and held it open as he waited for Damian.

Damian looked at the two idiots trying to hide their laughter. He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into tight fists. Oh, the things he wanted to do to them. The unspeakable horrors he thirsted to dispense on their very souls.

"Master Damian?"

"I _heard_ you the **first** time, Pennyworth!" Damian shouted and muttered curses before turning on his heel and stammering out of the kitchen.

"Thanks Alfred," Dick smiled at the older man who shook his head and ever so slightly smirked. Dick's cobalt blue eyes lit up at the older man's crack in character.

The kitchen door then closed behind Alfred and Damian, initiating Tim's detonation into a spell of laughs. Dick also laughed, but not as obnoxiously. Nevertheless, Damian grew angrier and bit the inside of his cheek until it hurt. He released it and then proceeded to grind his teeth together. He didn't see what was so funny. He _was_ human, superior to most, if not all. He had laughed before.

"Aren't you going to take me to my father, Pennyworth?" Damian snapped. Alfred cleared his throat. He nodded before leading Damian into the hallway, across the antechamber and into the main hall where the guests were gathered.

"Oh, speak of the devil, here's one of my sons now," Bruce said as Damian approached with Alfred trailing away to tend to a few guests. "This is Damian. Damian, say hello to Ms. Patrice Everstone."

Damian eyed his father. Was the man trying to be humorous? 'O_ne of my sons?_' Damian was his _only_ son. He sighed and calmed at the thought of Drake never being able to have a father, Grayson as well. Damian saw himself as better than the two. "Good evening, Miss Everstone." Damian said politely. He shook hands with the woman.

"Oh, he's adorable like his father." The blonde-haired woman said. Damian restrained himself from crushing her hand. They soon ended their handshake. He stood to the right of his father while this flashy woman stood in front of them looking suddenly displeased. She looked down at Damian again, specifically at his spiky styled hair before blinking a few times and returning her gaze to the handsome Mr. Wayne.

Bruce chuckled and patted Damian's shoulder. He then slightly turned the boy, motioning them to depart from the woman who had apparently lost interest in Bruce at the sight of Damian.

'_Thank goodness_,' Bruce thought to himself. He had wanted an excuse to depart company from that woman. There were some things that Bruce Wayne couldn't do that only the Batman could. After all, the Batman was a master escape artist, but the same wasn't true for the playboy, billionaire Bruce Wayne, per se.

Given this single example of constriction, Bruce imagined it was partly reason as to why he wore the cowl so often these nights. Not to mention that as Batman he could unleash his frustrations, especially his most recent that involved his eldest. He had banned his eldest son from the estate several months ago. He could only imagine Dick's uneasiness being unable to see Tim on his birthday. His eldest was a people-person, unlike him, and despite his eldest losing his parents and never really having a family afterwards besides Alfred and himself, Bruce knew that Dick valued family.

Regardless, Dick had to stay away. '_It's for his own good,_' Bruce tried convincing himself.

"That's a nice perfume." Damian suddenly said, waking Bruce from his thoughts and causing him to jerk to a stop. He eyed the boy, mistrustful of his sudden sociability. Usually Dick spoke with such complimentary.

"Damian?" Bruce said quietly. He glanced at the woman who turned back to them. '_No, ignore him_,' he thought.

"Oh, thanks sweetie." The blonde-haired woman smiled and rolled her bare shoulders. She touched her pearl necklace as she eyed Bruce who was smiling weakly.

"I have a question though." Damian scrunched his face and blinked a few times. Bruce stared at him, his smile vanishing from his lips. Damian was acting a bit unusual and he seemed annoyed.

"What's that love?" Patrice asked, eyeing his hair again. This only added to Damian's annoyance. His lips twitched.

"Must you _marinate_ in it?" He gave a rude snorting noise before turning on his heel. He then walked away. If his father had called him over as reason to flee from the woman, Damian would oblige, but by his own rules.

"Did he just—?" Patrice started, looking extremely confused. Her mouth hung open and she blinked several times.

"Let's get a drink." Bruce quickly said. After the initial shock of what Damian said, he now frowned. '_Looks like I'm not getting away anytime soon_.' "Don't worry. He was exaggerating. You know kids..." He tried chuckling. '_Thank you, Damian_.' Bruce thought sarcastically as he attempted to clean up the boy's mess.

After nearly fifteen minutes, he was somewhat successful. His uncertainty lied in the fact that now he had a date with the blonde-haired woman sometime in the next few days. "Was that necessary?" Bruce asked once he left the woman's company and stood to Damian's left. He wasn't pleased with his son's behavior. His tone towards his son carried a subtle heatedness.

They spoke in the hall. Damian with his hands stuffed into his front pockets. It was obvious he was sulking. The boy gnawed at the inside of his cheek. Lately, he was becoming increasingly childish, despite being only a 10-year-old boy; he was different from other boys, raised and trained passed his youthful tender years and thrust into a life most men never dream of at night.

"Father," Damian began. He didn't look up at the tall man but stared down the hall, watching as few guests passed by. "Instead of being cross with me, perhaps you should lecture Drake."

"Why's that, Damian? Tim didn't just insult a guest."

"No. Drake didn't insult a guest," Damian agreed. "Rather a resident." Damian looked up at his father after the end of this statement however, the tall man's stare, though not the infamous bat glare, it was enough for the boy to know that he should continue. "Grayson decided to pay him a visit." Damian finished as he looked down at his shining black shoes.

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "No." He gritted his teeth. "He wouldn't even think of it." Dick wouldn't dare disobey an order and appear at the manor after Bruce had instructed him to keep away. Dick left and if he wanted to lead his own life and have the recognition of being a man, then he needed to obey that command. He had to obey him. He needed to obey...Batman.

"He's not as perfect as you want him to be, Father." Damian replied, seemingly disappointed in Grayson and the trust his father had in him.

"Where is he?" Bruce asked.

"He's hiding away the kitchen, dressed in that barbaric law enforcement uniform." It didn't take more than that for Bruce to set off without another word.

_'Brace yourself, Grayson_.' Damian thought as he watched his father. '_This is only the beginning._' Damian's thoughts silenced before he set off to wander the manor, but with intent on heading to the outside grounds.

Along the way towards the kitchen, forcing smiles and shaking hands with the guests, Bruce's mind filled with anger as he cleared the antechamber and various hallways; he made a B-line for the kitchen. On the other side of the wooden doors, there was some exchange of dialogue and small laughter. A particular laugh, happy-go-lucky and so pleasant that it was nearly contagious, belonged to none other than his eldest.

"Richard." Bruce said once he opened the doors to the kitchen. Tim had his laptop opened on the counter and quickly turned from it, but only after silencing the rock music that played. He straightened his appearance at the sight of his legal father. Dick slowly straightened himself as he removed his elbows from the counter and tore his eyes from the computer screen.

He was a bit tense at the call of his full first name but greeted his legal parent. "Hi Bruce." He paused. "It's been a while." There wasn't any hint of malice in his words. He spoke honestly. Tim remained at his side, quiet and watchful.

Of course, Bruce hadn't thought about what sort of dialogue he would spew if he found that Damian was telling the truth. His mind drew a blank but he opened his mouth and naturally and undesirably hardheartedly, the words poured out. "What are you doing here?" Bruce asked after a long pause.

"Bruce," Dick began gently. "Don't be like that." There was another pause, as Dick watched Bruce for any reaction. There was none. "Okay, so, it's nice to see you too." Dick muttered but he wasn't sure if Bruce knew how honestly he meant his words. "It's Tim's birthday. I just thought I'd stop by to give him his gift." Dick answered straightly. Bruce looked at Tim who displayed the evidence for Bruce, confirming Dick's words as truth. Bruce, no, Batman always needed evidence.

"Well it looks like you did what you trespassed for." Bruce said. Dick looked sharply at his mentor's midnight blue eyes, searching for any trace of feeling besides anger and uncertainty.

"Trespassed?" Dick questioned. "Really Bruce?" He was surprised. "Do you have some restraining order on me or something?" Dick was growing annoyed. Bruce was a stubborn man. He couldn't make an exception, even for Tim's birthday.

Before Bruce could respond, a cellular phone began to ring. It rang once and then twice before Bruce took out his cell phone. His phone was quiet but he still pressed the power button to make the screen light up. There was nothing but the time displayed.

| 22:26 PM EST

Dick sighed as he removed his phone from his right pocket while Bruce watched him. The older man's eyes narrowed at the sight of the tactical holster platform on Dick's thigh. Straight away, Dick noticed Bruce's stare.

"Easy Bruce," Dick said calmly. "I'm not carrying it with me." He showed Bruce the empty gun holster before looking at his phone screen. It still rang. He saw that he had an incoming call but hardly had time to read and understand the name as Bruce spoke and stole his attention shortly.

"But it's on my property somewhere."

Dick didn't respond to him as he accepted the call. Therefore, Bruce looked at Tim who stood uncomfortably in front of the counter beside Dick. He gave Tim a disapproving look, knowing that Tim knew Dick's predicament concerning his access to the manor. Tim looked away, obviously hurt and disappointed with himself.

"Hello. Dick Grayson speaking." Dick said into the phone he held to his left ear. His eyes scanned the floor as he listened. His brows slowly furrowed. "Another one?" Dick asked, surprised. "When?" He quickly switched the phone to his right ear and pinned it between his cheek and shoulder. He drew up the sleeve of his windbreaker and looked at the watch buckled on his left wrist.

| 22:27 EST

"Yeah, I can make it." Dick shifted his weight. "Where again?" There was a small pause. Dick mouthed the address. Tim and Bruce couldn't make it out. "Okay, I'll be right there." He ended the call and stuffed the phone into his pocket.

"Is everything alright Dick?" Tim broke his silence. Dick's demeanor had changed drastically. He wasn't as jovial as before, though Bruce was partly reason to that, but Dick's demeanor had furthered plummeted from that. Something was wrong.

"Yeah. I just…I have to go." He patted his pockets and checked the counter, making sure he had his belongings. "There's something I need to do back at Blüdhaven."

"Oh." Tim simply said. He gritted his teeth. '_Blüdhaven…I hate that place_.' He looked at Bruce who blinked once. The man remained fixed in his position in front of the kitchen doors.

"I'll give you the rest of those song names sometime tomorrow, Tim." Dick said.

"Uh, sure." Tim said looking at Dick's back as he approached the kitchen doors.

"Excuse me, Bruce." Dick said as he walked and stood before Bruce who blocked the exit. He looked up at his mentor and Bruce looked down at him.

There was nearly a half-foot difference in height between the two since Bruce did stand over six feet. The older man studied his adopted son's face before moving aside so that the latter could depart.

"Bruce…" Dick began softly after taking a few steps forward and then stopping.

"I don't want to hear it." Bruce spoke quickly. "Just go. You should have been there in the first place. If anything's happened, it will be on you."

Dick gritted his teeth and thought on Bruce's words. '_He's…right_.' Dick reluctantly admitted to himself. He nodded slowly and turned towards Tim. "See ya later Tim." Dick genuinely smiled again as he said, "I love you."

"Dick…" Tim began. He was at a loss of words, knowing that Dick spoke truthfully. He was glad for that but Tim didn't express how he felt, not in front of Bruce. So, instead, he was silent.

Dick understood Tim's silence. This common silence occurred from time to time. He grew up in it. "Happy Birthday." Dick finished. His own voice was what choked the silence, even if he didn't think it did much and even if he sometimes felt that his words fell on deaf ears, he'd just have to be extra frivolous. Without another word, he exited the kitchen. Silence reigned for several moments as the door slowly inched closed.

"You know better Tim." Bruce spoke once the door shut.

Tim nodded and then said, "It's been a little over half a year. You can't be mad at him forever." He said quietly, unsure of his words.

"I'll decide that. You should return to the main hall now." Bruce waited for Tim to gather his things. He then followed the teen out. The two returned to the main hall while Dick walked the length of the antechamber towards the front entrance.

"Leaving so soon, Grayson?" Damian said. He was leaning on the wall with his hands crossed over his chest, proudly. Dick stopped and turned to him.

"Yeah." Dick replied almost despairingly. He was smiling though. Damian furrowed his brows, a bit confused as Dick reached into his pocket and approached Damian.

"Grayson I swear!" Damian pushed off the wall and raised his hands in defense. "If you think I'll let you touch me again!"

"Relax Rambo. It's just my phone." Dick said flatly. He turned it on and read the time.

| 22:31 PM EST

Dick opened the camera option. He held the phone up so that he could see Damian's face in the screen. The boy was obviously annoyed and confused. He smirked before quickly snapping a photo of Damian. He saved it and then showed it to him. "You should have listened to Alfred's suggestion." Dick informed him.

Damian stepped forward and looked at the picture of his own face. He was near perfection, as there seemed to be something on his head, sticking to his hair. He slightly squinted, mostly in confusion at the sight of the thing in his hair. It was a large and bright pink bow.

"Spirit fingers." Dick whispered before taking his phone and replacing it into his pocket. He quickly trotted to the door. "See you later Damian." He opened the door. "Don't forget: I love you!" Dick sang as he exited the manor. The door clicked shut.

Damian instantly reached his right hand up and ripped the bow from his hair. He stared at it with such intensity that if he had Superman's powers, the bow would be nothing but a pile of ash.

Many questions came to his mind like where had the bow come from, was it from Tim's present? Was Grayson the one who managed to place it on him? How did he not feel it? Why did no one tell him he had such an atrocious decoration on his head?

Damian threw the bow down to the floor and kicked it twice before pouncing on it. He then crushed it under his foot and smeared it along the floor to destroy all its wickedness.

"Stupid Grayson!" He exclaimed.

"Master Damian." Alfred suddenly called. Damian snapped his attention at the butler. "What are you doing, sir?" Alfred took notice that Damian no longer wore the bow in his hair and presumed it lied under the child's foot, which was oddly poised before him.

"_Nothing_, Pennyworth. What do you want?" Damian was highly annoyed, as usual. He stood straight. '_Pennyworth knew about the bow._' He glared at the older man.

Alfred cleared his throat and pressed his lips together at the sight of the bow. "Everyone is gathering for the closing remarks. Please, come join them in the main hall, sir."

Damian looked back at the front door and clenched his fists. He couldn't do anything now so h_e _straightened his suit once more before stammering off into the main hall behind Alfred, leaving the bow in a deplorable state on the floor. The child muttered curses and occupied his mind with possible schemes he could use against Grayson in the future.

"You'll regret not working with a safety net." Damian mumbled to himself with a smirk. _'And I hope you like what I did with your car, Grayson.'_

"Did you say something Master Damian?" Alfred asked.

"No." Damian answered. "Nothing."

"Very well, sir." Alfred said after a short pause.

_'Just wait Grayson... Just wait.' _Damian thought.

Unknown to him were just how true his thoughts were. Not only for Dick Grayson, but also for the rest of them as for the time being, they needed only to wait. In fact, remain in the lull of the perfect storm.

* * *

| _To be continued…_


	3. Nursery Stiff

_| Thank you to those who are now following the story and/or have added this story to their favorite's list. And a big thank you to those of you who have left reviews. It helps._

* * *

.Nursery Stiff.

* * *

| Avalon Heights, **BLÜDHAVEN**

_| July 19, 23:36 EST_

"We're looking for someone to identify the body now." The lie was obvious but the report continued as Sergeant Amy Rorhbach walked the rows of a lighted greenhouse of a nursery-garden center in Avalon Heights, four blocks from Saint Anthony's nursing home.

The report was from a man whose speech and affect echoed ennui all too well. Perhaps it was because of his crooked nose or the radical humidity of the room's atmosphere. Did plants really need all this humidity? How was it possible that it was this hot so late in the evening? Regardless of it being July, it was too much.

"But it's another one of those suicides that have been going around." The officer spoke of the suicides as a disease and closed his empty notepad. He then clicked his pen, twice, because he had forgotten that he hadn't written anything.

"Is it now..." Amy discerned that that was the closing of the report and knew all too well that this bunch were somewhat incompetent. The feeble report wasn't all that gave it away.

Two laid-back officers continued to converse about the night's earlier events: a Gotham Griffins game. They had spoken for over fifteen minutes near the greenhouse entrance and one held a cigarette in his hand. The brunette shook her head at them while gritting her teeth. In the least, they had competency enough to close off the scene with caution tape.

"My team will handle it from here." Amy informed the officer with a crooked nose who had given a poor excuse of a report. She approached him. On normal circumstances, she would place a statement to the higher ups against the lot of them but knew better than to do that. This was Blϋdhaven after all. She would only be reporting officers for insubordination, lack of professionalism and hints of corruption to someone who was no different, if not more so.

"Sorry serge." The apology came as if in response to her thoughts but of course, that wasn't the case. An uncaring hand came slowly down on her shoulder and squeezed false comfort and support. Amy eyed him cautiously as he walked passed her to join in on the sports conversation. She then turned from him and looked down to the bloody stiff slumped over a muddied and cheap rolling table.

She inhaled sharply. "Grayson?" The brunette couldn't help but breathe the name. There was no answer. Not from the lifeless body. "Rivera!" Amy barked angrily. Behind her towards her left, a short man with excessive facial hair approached. "Did that group touch anything or do anything…to disturb this scene while I was canvassing outside?" The man shook his head. "Well?" Amy impatiently barked, awaiting a verbal response.

"No." Rivera spoke up. He then pulled out a small digital camera and began capturing shots of the insides of the greenhouse. For now, he remained in the row and started with the dead body. Despite earlier pictures taken, Riviera heard his team leader state that their team would be taking over. Thus, a fresh set of pictures were in order.

Amy nodded quickly. "Okay." She stepped towards the glass wall behind the corpse and peered at her reflection, as she could see nothing else. It was very dark outside. She wiped her brow, then turned around and continued to take in the mess before her. It was all she could do while Rivera was capturing the scene.

She gritted her teeth. The person was so young. It always bothered her when young people were involved in such cases. She sighed. "Where the hell is Grayson?" She complained. He had called to check in with her and to inform her that he would be running late. He had some unexpected car trouble.

"Here" Dick Grayson announced his presence, slightly panting. He maneuvered his way into the greenhouse past the first group. "I'm here." He reiterated as he checked his watch.

| 23:46 EST

Amy shot him a look before allowing it to linger as she absorbed him and his behavior. He looked as if he had just run a marathon. With his cheeks slightly flushed, there was some sweat at his brows. Amy noticed that as he set right to work his cobalt blue eyes drank in the untidiness before them prior to giving the corpse a quick run over. His jaw line tensed slightly.

"About time." Amy eyed him. Dick gave her a half-smile as a form of apology while he collected his breath. She wasn't taking it, so he cleared his throat and quickly smoothed his hand over his dark blue tie. "How's the car trouble?" She asked.

"Troubling." He answered with a small grin. "I had to leave it behind." He sounded only a tad cheerless.

Halfway on his way to Avalon Heights from the outskirts of Gotham City, his car had stopped running. Under quick inspection, he presumed it could be anything from of a faulty coil wire to a problem with the fuel pump and everything in between. He couldn't be too sure of the problem yet, but with a nonfunctioning car, which he swore should be in pristine condition unless a certain devilish 'boy wonder' had anything to do with it out of resentment for being hugged and pretty much laughed at a little over an hour ago, Dick used other methods of travel to take him to Avalon Heights: a couple of buses, a few train rides and then by foot the rest of the way.

He had replaced his gun to its holster and discarded his windbreaker, leaving it in his car. He wasn't exactly accustomed to the bulkiness of his officer uniform and the July temperature and the moisture of the greenhouse wasn't making it any better. Not only that, the humidity also made the smell of death stronger than usual. Oddly enough, it didn't faze him that much; however, it wasn't on his list of the best top five smells.

"So, what do we have here?" Dick asked. Rivera answered him as the man continued to move around, snapping shots of the scene from differing angles.

"Suicide. Male. Early to mid twenties. We don't have an ID on the body yet. We received a call at 10:20 PM from a resident at St. Anthony's who claimed to have heard a loud noise at about 9:30 PM."

"The lapse in time?" Dick inquired as he began walking in and out of the rows, scanning the floor and benches.

"The lapse in time," Amy took charge of giving Grayson a quick briefing and continued, saying, "was because the resident is confused. The staff assumed the resident heard fireworks. They themselves had heard the loud noise, obvious gunshot," Amy said as she motioned towards the dead body with her hand. "But assumed it was a firework. However, once half an hour passed without any further noise, they got suspicious and decided to call Blüdhaven PD." Amy finished.

There was a long pause as Dick nodded his head.

"Any thoughts?" Amy inquired once Grayson stood in the row of the stiff. She was a little irritated. It wasn't towards Grayson, but about this scene, the location, the victim, and the circumstances that were all involved.

By the looks of the stiff, it might have actually been a typical suicide; however, the brunette was too stubborn to believe that. After all the sudden outbreak of suicides, adding another to that list was too bizarre. Amy knew it wasn't typical for Blϋdhaven to have too many suicides. It was Blϋdhaven. If there was a death, it was someone killing someone else. Therefore, as for this being a suicide, she wasn't buying it, rather, didn't want to. There was something more; something here that was missing. There had to be.

She looked to her rookie. The feeling came to her that he felt the same way and yet he had just entered the greenhouse, never minding his recent addition to the force. Her eyes narrowed. She wanted him to get his feet wet but something inside her told her that his feet had already been soaked in such work. For a long time too, more than her ten years spent in the Blϋhaven Police Department. He carried a peculiar finesse and though it wasn't unusual for people to have natural instincts, Grayson seemed too…trained.

"Well," Dick began. He breathed normally again. He closed the five feet of space between him and the corpse, minding Rivera who was still clicking away at the camera and the blood stains that decorated the floor.

Besides the obvious evidence, a slumped body with a gunshot wound through the dead man's right temple, a gun in his right hand with his index finger still tickling the trigger, the large amount of blood that vomited on the various vegetation and wood tables, there was something unnatural about the body position. It wasn't just the way the soles of his shoes were facing up, but upon closer observation, Dick noted beneath the corpse's chest, propping the body up on the wheeling table, there was something hidden. He reached for his latex gloves and donned them.

"What do we have here?"

"Wait, Grayson." Rivera tried warning. Too late. Dick was already lifting the man's chin and tugged at the object wedged between the tabletop and chest. He gently placed the head back on the table. "What is that?" Rivera lowered his camera.

"A tape recorder." Amy answered for Grayson. Her brows furrowed as she approached him, donning her own gloves. She hadn't noticed that and she had been at the scene for well over thirty minutes. "Start it up, Grayson." Dick pressed the play button on the bulky recorder.

_There is light static noise. It lessens once a man's voice begins._ **"****Nightwing."** _The voice is breathy and desperate but suddenly evens when the words continue to pour out._ **"****I was hoping you would find me first. The 'haven's police are useless. They haven't figured the plan out yet. The big BANG plan… But enough of that. I'm tired of waiting…living. I will end my life."**_A loud gunshot explodes and the sound of a body falling long and hard is the last sound of evidence on the tape before…_

The recorder clicked to a stop shortly after. The play button popped up into its original position. The bulky recorder sat at rest.

"Suicide." Rivera reiterated after a short moment of silence. Amy looked at him. "What?" He spoke defensively.

"Are you sure that the first group didn't touch anything?" She pressured him again with the same question.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because," Dick interjected. He shook his head. It bothered him that the voice on the tape spoke to Nightwing. '_Is this what Bruce had meant?'_He thought. The words of his mentor echoed in his head.

_'You should have been there in the first place. If anything's happened, it will be on you.'_

Because Dick had been in Gotham, he missed the opportunity to help this man. However, there might not have been much for him to do since it was a suicide. Somehow, Dick didn't feel right calling it that. Still, he should have been in Blüdhaven in the first place. He pressed his lips together, the sudden feeling of inadequacy growing within him. It was a feeling he could never shake, especially when it came to Batman.

Amy looked at him. "Grayson?" She began. His demeanor changed suddenly.

His cobalt blue eyes narrowed and darted over the dead body and glasshouse. He also stood up straighter. For a man he wasn't exactly tall, rather average, being just a few inches taller than Amy who stood to five feet, seven inches. She continued to watch his tense body language but before her eyes could measure him, he dropped to the floor, rather squatted quickly and drastically.

_How does he manage to keep his balance? _She pondered.

"What's on your mind, Grayson?" She squatted beside him slowly and followed his eyes as they surveyed the blood tarnished underbelly of the tables and then to the floor beside them where blood and dirt were smeared in circles and sharp, thin lines. She believed she began seeing what he was getting at.

"This is an old model voice recorder." Dick stood up. Amy followed and blinked, as what he said was not what was on her mind. "As we just saw, they can't rewind themselves." Dick pressed the play button down but it immediately shot back up. "Once the tape stops, someone has to rewind it. So, I think we can assume that someone touched this because—"

"When we listened to it, it started from the beginning. Someone had to have tampered with it." Amy agreed.

"But who?" Rivera asked. He eyed the three men by the greenhouse entrance, all too ready to accuse the incompetent first bunch.

"Unless when he fell forward, he somehow managed to press rewind, but… That's unlikely." Dick wasn't so quick to place blame anywhere as he looked at the tape recorder. He couldn't see how this man could rewind the tape with dead weight but he looked at Amy. Her lips pressed together to form a thin line.

"So, not counting the victim, we have to re-investigate the time lapse of when the shot was heard and reported." Dick nodded in agreement. "We also need to find any sort of witnesses." Amy shook her head, doubtful that there would be any witnesses to this case, reported as a suicide. "I wonder if the others were the same." She said lowly to herself.

Dick looked back at the body, shrugging. "And then there's the floor and tables with blood. The gunshot wound should have instantly killed him but it looks like he was trying to clean up." Dick surveyed the floor and then the body. There was no other physical damage to it, besides the hole in the man's temple.

"Alright," Amy said, gathering her thoughts. "Get someone to ID this body now and bring in the other teams. We need fingerprint analysis, ballistic fingerprinting and a forensic footwear evidence team here. Let's go. We have work to do. Grayson, we need to access those surveillance tapes." She pointed to a camera in the corner, high near the ceiling. "For now, it's all we have."

"You got it." Dick nodded. It was going to be a long night of investigation that would span across several days.

* * *

_| To be continued...  
_


	4. Tipsy Rumors

_| I feel like a bore, -_- However, this all leads into the 'big plan' and of what's to come, I assure you. I revised this chapter and my next chapters to come, having deleted a lot of extra...words. So, if you notice any changes in writing style, etc, it's due to my new editing changes. Thank you. _

_| Also, Dick x Barbara or Dick x Clancy? I'm curious, as to which you are a fan of or would like to see._

* * *

.Tipsy Rumors.

* * *

| Hogan's Alley, **BLÜDHAVEN**

_| July 22, 20:58 EST_

Despite having resigned from bartending several months ago when becoming an officer of the Blüdhaven Police Department, Dick offered his services to Hank Hogan's bar from time to time. If he remained as both a police officer and bartender full-time, it would leave little room for the most exciting occupation: patrolling and beating up thugs as the vigilante adorned in imperial blue and black Kevlar—Nightwing.

"Thanks again, Grayson." Hank, the burly owner and ex-cop said. He extended his showing of gratitude by slapping his meaty hand over Dick's shoulder blade. The acrobat jerked, stepping forward to keep from falling over.

"Anytime Mr. Hogan." Dick replied after balancing himself. As Hank walked passed him, he removed the abandoned glasses from the bar counter and placed them in the sink. He then returned to the counter and using the white towel thrown over his shoulder, began wiping the wood furnished countertop.

"So, being a cop now," Hank began. "Is it helping any in becoming a writer?" He busied himself behind the bar, in the corner, placing a faceplate over one of the electrical outlets.

"Yeah, sure…more or less."

Dick had told Hank he wanted to work at the alley because he was an aspiring writer and wanted to hear interesting stories. Truth was it had little to with aspiring to become a writer—though Dick did find writing an enjoyable hobby—and a lot to do with wanting to hear about Blüdhaven and her secrets.

Hogan's Alley was a bar that served mostly to cops. Drunk and tipsy cops said a lot. Dick had gained a lot of information from behind the Alley's counter and every now and then, he still benefited from it.

"You don't sound too confident." Hank pointed out.

"Well, you know, writing all those reports kinda drains you, but its good practice and I do have veteran officers who share their glory day stories." Dick gave a half-smile. It didn't matter how much truth he blended with the lie, it left him feeling uneasy. '_Lying is necessary.'_ He tried convincing himself.

In the least, he was honest when Hank gave him that far-fetched interview, or rather interrogation. He openly admitted to having never worked at a bar before and to never having consumed alcohol before. Despite the 'get-togethers' he often attended as Bruce Wayne's **ward**, he was too young to indulge in the substance and by the time he came of age to legally drink, he was too immersed in his vigilante work to ever try it. Not that he wanted to. Bruce wasn't much of a drinker and Dick had seen enough drunken men to know he would rather live a life of sobriety

"I see. That's good." Hank absentmindedly replied. Dick's smile broadened in seeing a similarity Hank had with Bruce. Dick recalled times when Bruce absentminded answered him, whenever the younger would excitedly reveal an accomplishment to his mentor.

The conversation between them soon died and sighing before leaving Hank to his project, Dick walked towards the small sink where he began to clean the short and high glasses and mugs. As he did, three men entered the bar.

"…today. Now I gotta walk the beat." The first complained. He was a tall man with a crooked nose.

"Where at?" The second questioned. He was drastically shorter than the first, with deep-set eyes.

"Where else? Halyard square." He didn't sound too displeased.

"Oh, lucky."

"Could be better though." The third man stated. He was older than the two and had a baldhead.

"Yeah right!" Crooked nose exclaimed in disbelief. "How so?"

"You could be working **all** those suicides with that self-righteous brunette sergeant of precinct 6." He replied sarcastically.

"Ha! No way." They approached the counter. "This way I have more freedom and get to do a few things near the good ol' Snappy Dry Cleaners." He whispered the last few words but Dick heard them regardless, and the laughter that followed.

The Snappy Dry Cleaners was a spot often used for money drop-offs. A while back Dick and Tim had had a little run-in with some folk there. It was back when Dick first came to Blüdhaven while investigating the twenty-one gang member murders found in Gotham's harbor.

He'd been a little panicky back then, he'd admit, and he wasn't taking into account for the nightmares he had been having at the time, but rather his anxiety in thinking that Bruce had sent Tim to check on the first of the Robins. Worse yet, that Tim would run back to Bruce and tell him that Nightwing wasn't cutting it in Blüdhaven, how it was dangerous and out of his league.

Luckily, none of that happened. Tim told his 'brother' that the two were different. That while Tim knew he couldn't handle being on his own in Blüdhaven, somehow he believed that Dick and Nightwing could.

_'Even Timmy has high hopes for me.'_ Dick mused but he suddenly recalled Tim's plan of not being out on the rooftops in ten years or taking over as the Batman. It was only a matter of time before Tim would make that shift and hang up his Red Robin persona. Dick's expression changed to that of uncertainty, which occurred when it concerned one of three things: women, his place in the world or Batman. _'I wonder… if…or when I'll give up my vigilante persona…' _Dick thought. _'I wonder what Bruce…heh, no, what Batman would say about that._'

The three laughed, waking Dick from his thoughts. He turned the faucet off and left the dirty, unfinished glasses in the sink to serve the three. He wiped his hands on the white towel and raised his eyebrows to tag along with his question:

"What would—"

"Three cold ones." The one with the crooked nose interrupted without looking at Dick. However, he displayed three fingers to him, assuming Dick couldn't understand English.

Dick instantly recognized Crooked-nose as the man who had been the one to give Amy report. He nodded before going to the small fridge and pulled out three cold drinks. He returned to the three men, reached for the bottle opener and with it, popped the tops off. He set them down before each of them.

"You know, I've been wondering about those." The shortest man said after taking a sip from his bottle. Dick returned to the dishes but eyed Hank who was still messing with the faceplate of the electrical outlet.

"About what?" Crooked-nose asked.

"Those suicides." He spoke softer. "Couple of my boys was talking about them too. Are they really suicides? Seems like a lot—all sudden-like. Is it a new trend?"

"The news channels all say they're male and barely out of their teens." Baldhead gave the conversation what he had heard.

Over the past several weeks, beginning in June, there had been four reports of suicide—in truth, the number of suicides was higher, however, only these four reached the news channels—and actually, there were five cases of suicides, if the one Dick had investigated two days ago on Tim's birthday counted as one. However, the likelihood of that was low, now that it was taking on a homicidal angle. Unfortunately, that had little to do with the surveillance tapes, which were useless. There were too many visual disturbances and obstacles to see a clear picture and the equipment was too old to record any audio.

Nevertheless, each broadcasted suicide case involved a different method of death and location. The first had been at MealtidePark where civilians celebrated a birthday party. The details of death did not air on any news stations and rumors were scarce.

The second occurred at Byke beach and again with details withheld from the public, rumors were faint. The third, police found inside an ice-cream truck in front of Saint Eustace Church. The victim died of hypothermia. The fourth occurred in the cornfields in ThrawnPark near Avalon Hills, with the cause of death still unknown.

Lastly, the fifth took place two nights ago, at a nursery-garden center in AvalonHeights. A gunshot wound to the right temple and the public knew this. Besides suicide, Baldhead had stated another similarity, in that they all involved young healthy men, barely out of their teens.

"Hm," Crooked-nose wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't think it's a new trend but I did think they were all suicides. But…," he paused to drink from his bottle. "Ah! Ms. Self-righteous and her new _pretty-boy_ rookie reported that last one as a possible **homicide**."

_'Pretty boy?_' Dick mused. He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or insult but it didn't matter and it wasn't as if he especially considered himself the pretty boy type.

"So now you know what that means." Crooked-nose continued.

"Work." Baldhead said flatly and continued sarcastically. "Forbid you have to do any of that."

"Shut up Miles." Crooked-nose retorted.

"So, what does it mean then?" The short one asked. Crooked-nose looked at him.

"Miles hit it right on the head, Perez, work." The three laughed. "Hey, give me another." Crooked-nose shook his empty bottle and then heavily placed it on the counter. Dick turned the faucet off and placed the last glass upside down on a drying rack. He wiped his hands on the towel and turned.

"Sure." He offered a smile, which Crooked-nose never saw and went to the fridge to retrieve another cold bottle. He popped the top off and moved to place the bottle in front of Crooked-nose who instead snatched the bottle right from Dick's hand. "You're welcome," Dick muttered. Crooked-nose didn't hear him.

"So, now those other four have to be looked at again?" Perez questioned. He didn't seem too bright but that worked in Dick's favor, who busied himself with work by drying the glasses and setting them back on their display racks.

"Yeah," Crooked-nose said after a gulp of his drink. "But it won't be easy."

"Why's that?" Perez raised his eyebrows.

"Because."

"What did you do O'Hara?" Miles inquired. O'Hara laughed.

"Just listen," O'Hara began. "You know how I get mad."

"Yeah…"

"Well, after being put to the beat, I wasn't exactly mad but still, that tramp reported me." He drank from his bottle. "So," he said, licking his lips. "Me and my buddy have a lil' something planned later."

"Little something?"

"Yup."

Miles didn't push it any further and as the three men quieted to concentrate on their drinks, Hank suddenly stood up. He slapped his hands together as if to wipe them clean. The faceplate was set and there were no electrical wires exposed.

"Heya Hank!" O'Hara raised his voice. "Didn't see ya down there."

"So, who's killing 'em?" Perez suddenly asked. O'Hara kicked him. "Ow!"

"Shut up." Miles said through gritted teeth. O'Hara nodded at Hank who looked at him quizzically.

"Come on." O'Hara turned and walked away from the bar.

"Would you like another?" Dick quickly asked Perez. The short man nodded enthusiastically. Dick went to the fridge and took another bottle out. He popped the top off and before giving it to Perez, pressed a small object to the bottom. He handed it to Perez who raised it up to Dick in thanks.

Dick gave a nod and smile. '_At least one of you has a bti of manners_.'

"So, who's doing it?" Perez asked again once he rejoined the two officers in the farthest corner of the bar. Despite their distance, Dick heard them clearly. The small object he placed under Perez's drink was a short-range audio transmitter.

Dick had the receiver bud in his ear. _'Hopefully this works.'_ He thought.

"Seriously Perez." He heard O'Hara complain.

"What?"

"How did they let someone like you on to the force?" Miles asked.

"Forget it." O'Hara sighed.

"It's no one from within my connections or they'd uh told me something." Miles admitted.

"Same here." Perez added.

"Yeah, I hear it's no one from around here but you know the 'haven, she likes her secrets."

How true that was. Unlike Gotham where new gang leaders and low-level criminals sought to become well known as obnoxiously as possible, Blüdhaven's criminals worked in secret. Like mice that raid a house when it's dark and quiet.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Perez said.

"I have to ask." Miles said shaking his head. He took a sip from his bottle. "What's this 'little something' you've got planned?"

"Just a delivery hiccup with my buddy, sometime after midnight. Depends on when I get outta here and see the wife."

"Oh?" Miles scratched his baldhead.

"Ah, I see!" Perez slammed his half-empty bottle down on the table.

Dick flinched and removed the receiver bud from his ear to ease away the reverberation. He gave a half yawn to restore any loss of equilibrium before replacing the receiver back into his ear. However, the remainder of the three men's conversation became increasingly trivial.

It wouldn't matter as he already heard enough and now knew what his next step was. Thus, he resumed bartending as more off-duty officers trickled into the bar. However, he made sure to tune in—without use of the audio transmitter—to any conversations that might be worthwhile.

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_| To be continued…_


	5. Wings Come in Pairs pt 1

_| To those that have reviewed, thank you. It is encouraging and helpful. _

_| Enjoy._

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.Wings Come in Pairs - 1.

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| 1013 Parkthorne Ave, **BLÜDHAVEN**

_| July 23, 00:07 EST_

_'That's gotta be a record_,' Dick thought as he checked his watch. When Hank let him off at midnight, he ran the ten blocks from the alley to his apartment as fast as he could. Nearly eight minutes it took and he found himself out of breath. '_Not sleeping much since Timmy's birthday must be getting to me_.' He concluded before quickly climbing the stairs with his key in hand. He pushed the key into the lock and turned it opened. He then walked inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

It was quiet within the complex; all the residents settled for the night or already nestled into their beds, sleeping. Dick instantly went to the stairway bypassing the elevator, which would take too long. He took the steps by twos, being as quiet as he could however, behind him and down the first floor corridor, a door softly open and click closed.

"Mister Grayson?" The accent made him freeze.

He slowly turned and saw an Asian woman in jean overalls standing at the bottom of the stairs. It was Bridget Clancy, the super of the apartment complex. She sounded a bit tired and by the looks of it, specifically the black smudge on her cheek and a metal toolbox in hand, it was due to a late project she was working on. She was handy with tools and had an Irish accent that Dick found he liked.

"How are you?" She said in her natural Irish accent, soft on the vowels and strong with the consonants. A kind smile slowly found its way to her tinted lips. She wore a variety of lipstick. Tonight's color was a dark shade of purple.

"Hey, Clancy," Dick greeted with a gentle smile. "Little tired." It was an honest answer. "What's up?"

"Oh, right." Clancy brought her hand behind her head and combed through her short dark hair. "Just wanted to say hello and good night, but there's something I wanted ask you." Her accent made Dick smile. It drove him nuts every time he heard it.

"Sure."

"I was wondering if you," she hesitantly began. "Uh, we should do something next week or so. Like grab a bite to eat."

"Clancy…" Dick spoke softly, searching for the words to say. How was he to say he wasn't sure he could go out with her without it sounding like he was blowing her off? With the five cases at the department to look over and his investigations as Nightwing to do, he couldn't think of when he could give her the appropriate time. He had turned her down so many times already because of work. Regardless, it never made it any easier to do it again.

"Nothing fancy," Clancy quickly continued. "Just you know, as friends." She really did hate having to say that. "And to show you the 'haven a bit. It's part of my job description after all, as super." She chuckled. The contents of the toolbox, metal clanging, rang lightly.

"Clancy," Dick began again. He didn't want to hurt the woman's feelings anymore than he might have already. He had to think of something quick.

"Ha-ha, I know that tone." She smiled doubtfully and started turning slowly as if to walk away.

"No." Dick quickly replied. "I mean yes. Next week or so, right? Remind me." There was no way he could turn her down again. She was beautiful and had an attractive accent and personality. Besides, it wasn't as if he was seeing anyone. "We'll do something."

He and Barbara were at a distance from each other for the time being. He hadn't spoken to Barbara in several weeks after things grew…different between the two of them. Barbara wasn't sure how to handle him, per se. She felt he pushed himself too hard with his day job, his night job and his vigilante work. It bothered her that he wouldn't let up on any of it.

Dick insisted he could do it, that he had to. He had the tendency to hold himself responsible if things went wrong and the tendency to put too much on his plate. Barbara felt there was too much he tried to accomplish and it was eating away at him, her and their relationship, despite how much she aided him as Oracle.

"Great! Well, goodnight Mr. Grayson!" Clancy said perhaps a bit too loudly.

"Goodnight Clancy." Dick responded much quieter than she had. He would be surprised if anyone was still sleeping. He couldn't help but chuckle as she walked away. Once she was gone, he started up the stairs again, growing serious. He glanced at his watch.

| 00:11 EST

_'Crap,'_ He wasn't exactly sure of when the 'hiccup' would occur or exactly where, but O'Hara had left the bar at 11:57 PM. Dick still had to shower, change and travel to the Blüdhaven Law Enforcement Center. He'd start there and find out anything he could. There was a slim possibility he knew what O'Hara's hiccup would interrupt, and that was the documents on the suicide cases.

Ever since Amy handed in her progress report about the latest death, she presented a request to look into the other four cases for data collection and cross-referencing. This of course he wasn't to know but because of his nightly investigations as Nightwing, he found her request reports.

Therefore, if O'Hara's hiccup had any connection with those files, then it could only mean the higher ups granted Amy's request, which was a bit unusual. Normally they wouldn't bother. Especially since each of the four cases had been examined at different precincts.

Dick had to make sure those files, if that's what they were, made it to the 6th precinct. If they could help in the latest murder case, he had to make sure that it was preserved. It would help him in not having to go to Oracle for help or Batman for that matter.

'_I have to do this on my own_.' Dick thought and again Bruce's words came to him. '_You should have been there in the first place. If anything's happened, it will be on you.'_

Moreover, Dick wouldn't allow a man who had called him by name, to die without serving justice. In addition, if Amy was right in her assumption of the other cases being possible murders, then he had to investigate them to make sure. It was his duty and responsibility, not only as Officer Dick Grayson, but also as Nightwing. He made two oaths to serve and protect and he would die, if it came to that, to ensure he upheld his pledge.

Dick climbed the stairs quickly and threw himself at his apartment's door, 3A. He took the key and opened the lock. Once through the front door, he flicked the lights on, shutting and locking the door behind. His apartment was empty and quiet. Not too different from Wayne Manor expect for its smaller size and location amongst the grime he sought to clean up in Blüdhaven.

Without wasting any more time, he made sure the windows and blinds hid his apartment from any wandering eyes of the streets before entering the bathroom. He showered quickly and exited the bathroom wrapped from the waist down in a towel.

In his hands were his dirty clothes. He threw them in a laundry basket beside his kempt bed and shortly thought back to when he had last laid in it. The recall vanished as he walked to his kitchen with more pressing matters in mind. He opened the fridge and frowned. Empty. He needed to go shopping later. Sighing, he walked to the cabinets and opened a few before giving up. All empty. He'd eat later.

He proceeded to his closet and opened it, then stepped in and brushed the hanging clothes aside. He pressed his hand against the back wall. There was a clicking noise before the closet wall smartly gave way. Dick stepped through into the new apartment, that of Dr. Fledermaus, apartment 3B.

The apartment was quite different from his 'civilian' one. After all, apartment 3B housed most of his Nightwing needs and belongings, such as his Nightwing suit. He made his way into the bedroom and walked to the closet; he opened it. There were ordinary clothes within. He closed the closet door, opened a small, hidden wooden box against the doorframe and quickly entered a code. There was another round of soft clicking before he opened the door again and there stood his Nightwing attire, proudly displayed and ready for use. He snatched it up and adorned it after dressing himself in necessary undergarments.

Once dressed, he looked down at the stylized wings across his chest and shoulders that extended to his hands and colored his ring and middle fingers on both hands, in a visually attractive shade of imperial blue. He then applied the spirit gum to his mask and placed that over his face after running his hand through his hair, ruffling it. It was rather short. He'd have to change barbers if he couldn't convince them not to cut it so short.

_'Expect the unexpected_,' he then thought as he put his gauntlets and boots on. He checked them over to ensure they were stocked with all that he would need and placed the two shatterproof polymer Eskrima sticks on his back. He turned the lights off before exiting through the concealed entry, which led to the upper floor. It would take him to the roof.

Once on the roof, he felt the cool breeze against his face but knew he didn't have time to waste. He checked the time again.

| 00:20 EST

"Great. I'll make this one for sure." A sarcastic tone kicked in. _'I just hope whoever his buddy is, is as incompetent with this sort of work as O'Hara is on duty_.' He withdrew his grappling line. _'Good thing Batman isn't here. He'd be so disappointed in me.' _"Not that he'd need to be here to feel that." He sighed.

Nightwing's thoughts quieted once he took aim at a building and launched the grappling hook. Before the line went taut, Nightwing had already begun to run and leapt off the roof, free falling before suddenly jerking as the line went taut. He thrust his legs forward, building momentum as he swung. He then ran along the side of the building and pulled heavily on the line so that after his efforts, he managed to stand on top the new roof diagonally across from his apartment. He didn't stop there. Quickly collecting his grappling hook, he ran from roof to roof, alternating between swinging and jumping.

His time attack race to the Blüdhaven Law Enforcement Center continued in this manner.

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| Blüdhaven Law Enforcement Center: 6th Precinct, **BLÜDHAVEN**

_| July 23, 00:31 EST_

"They're late." The officer glanced at his watch and then turned to his partner.

"What time were they supposed to make the drop-off?"

"I dunno, sometime after midnight." The police officers surveyed the streets. A few cars passed but none stopped at the precinct. The first motioned to the other. "Let's head back in and wait inside; I'm tired."

"Yeah, okay, let me just finish this." He took a drag from his cigarette and scanned the streets before blowing the smoke out from his nostrils.

"Hurry up. It's hot out here." The second tugged at his collar and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

Above them, Nightwing crouched near a ledge. He sprung forward and smoothly somersaulted twice, however keeping his legs straight and knees locked as he managed to secure a jump line to the roof. It went taut and he held on tightly and then easily descended the rope. A few feet from the sidewalk and hidden in the alley, he effortlessly landed on the cement and collected his line.

"Excuse me officers," Nightwing began in a semi-deep voice from within the shadows between two buildings. They hadn't noticed his descending from the rooftops.

"Whoa, stay back!" The smoker exclaimed as he reached for his gun and his cigarette fell to the floor. He was a stout officer with dark skin. His partner, gray-haired and lanky, stood wide-eyed a few feet behind him.

"Easy," Nightwing said, drawing his hands up defensively and stepping forward so that a nearby lamppost lit his masked face. "I'm Nightwing. I just have a few questions." He said calmly, lowering his hands once the officers looked at one another, and warily nodded simultaneously. Nightwing smirked. "You two are waiting for a delivery." He stated.

"Yeah, how did you know about that?" The stout officer, Chase was his name as displayed from his name badge, questioned. His hand no longer hovered over his gun holster.

"That's not important right now." Nightwing dismissed the question. "What exactly was going to be delivered here?" A few civilians passed by, murmuring at the sight of him.

"Uh," Chase began, trying to recall the information.

"Don't tell him anything!" His partner snapped. Unlike Chase, he held his gun with the barrel pointed towards Nightwing. "We can't trust this guy. He might be some crazy underneath all that."

"I think we're all a little crazy." Nightwing answered honestly. "But you can trust me," he assured. "I just need to know what the delivery is so that I can help you guys. A departure location would be very helpful too."

"Yeah, some documents about these suicide cases." Chase responded. He stepped near his partner and whispered. "Listen, Mick, just tell him what he wants to know. If he's who he says he is, then he'll handle it and it'll be out of our hair. If anything goes wrong, we'll blame it on him. Sounds like an easy night to me."

Nightwing watched the two, curbing a growing frustration. '_Hungry…_' He gritted his teeth and patiently waited for the officers' next move.

"We… really don't know much," Mick began, giving in to his partner's offer for an easy night. "Other than we were to be here to bring it in to file." Chase nodded in agreement. Mick holstered his gun.

"What time was the delivery supposed to be?" Nightwing continued.

"We don't know much on the time, but it shouldn't take that long from the 2nd precinct near Melville park."

"_10-13! 10-13! Shots fired! 1829 Stark Avenue. Armed 10-20! Officers need assistance! Two—"_ In addition to the plea of assistance said over the radio at Chase's hip, a shotgun went off. The radio then fell silent.

"Well, that'll work for now," Nightwing said as the two officers looked at one other.

Stark Avenue was close to Melville Park and it was likely that the radio call for help was the doing of O'Hara; however, Nightwing couldn't be too sure. He had to keep an open mind. He stepped back into the shadows. Chase went after him, however the alley was absent of the masked vigilante.

"An easy night, huh?" Mick commented.

"Shut up." Chase picked up his radio microphone. "10-4." He said over the radio and gave the vehicle name. "Responding." He answered and without another word, the two officers went into their patrol car and headed towards Stark Avenue. Their flashing lights and whining sirens rushed through the streets of Blüdhaven.

* * *

| 1829 Stark Avenue, **BLÜDHAVEN**

_| July 23, 00:33 EST_

"Freeze!" A Blüdhaven officer declared. "Don't move!" He aimed his gun at one of the two hooded men emerging from a corner convenience store who carried a stuffed pillowcase over his shoulder. The poorly lit street to the left of the store and a lamppost down the right flittered on and off and these were the only sources of light save for what emitted from the store behind them and the flashing lights of the police vehicle.

"Put the bag down." The first officer's partner demanded once the two hooded men froze as they were told, and slowly but slightly raised their hands towards their heads. The officers were lucky to be in the area when the call of a robbery came through. "I said, put the bag down." The officer stated again as there was a long moment's pause when either side did nothing but hold their hands in the air.

Suddenly, one of the hooded men reached behind his back.

"I said FREEZE!" The first officer bellowed as the late Red Line North train screeched to a stop. He adjusted his aim to the hooded man who now held a shotgun and immediately let off a round. The officers returned fire as they sought a place to shield themselves behind their Blüdhaven patrol vehicle.

"10-13!" The first officer yelled into his radio. "10-13! Shots fired! 1829 Stark Avenue. Armed 10-20! Officers need assistance! Two—" Another shotgun round went off.

During this distraction as the officers sought protection and radioed in for help, the two hooded men jolted in different directions. The one with the shotgun ran to his right, down the path of the poorly lit street while the man holding the pillowcase ran up the street, following the Red Line North train.

"Bev," the first officer began. "Go after that one with the pillowcase. I got the one with the shotgun."

"Alright, Mullen." Bev said.

Once no longer threatened by the shotgun blasts, the officers split up and each chased after one of the hooded men. Mullen, a man of average height, chased after the armed man around the street corner.

Mullen was at least half a block away but still heard the scream of pain just after the armed man rounded the corner; he himself kept his speed but warily rounded the corner, fearing he would succumb to such a fate that would cause him to scream in pain. When he rounded the corner, what he saw dumbfounded him. Under a semi-bright lamppost, the hooded man was face down on the pavement; the shotgun lay near his limp body. Mullen clenched the grip of his gun tightly, guiding it to wherever his sights landed. A sudden laugh made him spin and turn towards a dark alley.

"Who's there?" He asked firmly. He eyed the downed man and the shotgun. "Come out with your hands up." Mullen instructed, setting his sights down the alley. He squinted in the process but to no avail as the alley was too dark.

"Hey now." The footsteps neared the officer, as the voice grew louder. "I'm one of the good guys, man."

"Who are you?" Mullen asked. "Did you do this?" He said motioning to the downed hooded man with his elbow.

The man from the alley emerged and stepped into the light. Mullen saw that he had light hair, blonde, and wore a domino mask in addition to a hockey jersey and camouflage pants. In the young man's hand was a long stainless steel baton.

* * *

_| To be continued…_


	6. Wings Come in Pairs pt 2

_| It's been longer than I expected. Thanks for waiting. Please, enjoy. _

* * *

.Wings Come in Pairs - 2.

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| Stark Avenue, **BLÜDHAVEN**

_| July 23, 00:44 EST_

"Yes. Nite-wing did this." Nite-wing responded proudly. His lips curled crookedly as he stepped forward, twirling the steel baton.

"Put the weapon down, son." Mullen instructed. Nite-wing pretended not to hear as he continued moving forward and towards the downed man. "Son, step away from him." Mullen said again, this time with greater demand. He inched forward himself, eyeing both the steel baton and shotgun.

"I'm one of the good guys." Nite-wing stated. "The good guys." He muttered and then paused. "Hero." His voice fell quiet. Too quiet.

"Son," Mullen warned guardedly. He extended his leg to kick the shotgun away but his foot never made contact.

"I'm good!" Nite-wing exclaimed, drawing his hand back. He sprung it forward with the steel baton ready. It caught Mullen's kneecap. The officer cried out in pain and faltered backwards, the gun abandoned from his hands as he used them in efforts to catch himself. Nite-wing continued his attack, taking the steel baton to the downed hooded man. "See what you did?" He exclaimed, frantically using the baton to the downed man. He then turned it to Mullen and interchanged beatings between the two.

Elsewhere, along the Red Line North, Bev chased after the hooded man with the pillowcase. The Red Line North's tracks were quiet, the streets below were poorly lit with few passing cars.

"Stop running!" Bev demanded, near out of breath. He was a faster runner than Mullen was, only a fourth block away from his purp; but still he couldn't catch up.

"I believe the officer said for you to stop running." Nightwing informed. He swung from his jumpline over the hooded man and drew his hand back, wing-ding prepped.

The hooded man looked up but that was one of his many mistakes as a sudden pain exploded in the back of his head shortly after Nightwing flicked his wrist. The man instantly fell to his knees and then lay motionless on his stomach with the pillowcase still in hand.

"You can't have that." Nightwing said landing nearly four feet away. He collected the line along with the pillowcase after securing the downed man's hands behind his back, cuffing them together. He then looked inside the pillowcase. "Wasn't what I was looking for," he sighed. It contained only money.

"Freeze!" Bev hollered. He breathed heavily and pointed his gun towards Nightwing.

"Woah," Nightwing said raising his hands. "Easy." He dropped the bag and kicked it over to the officer who took it.

"Step away from him." Nightwing obliged. "Mullen," Bev called into his hand radio. There was no answer. "Mullen!" Bev barked loudly in the hand radio.

"_Hello_?"

Bev frowned. It wasn't Mullen's voice.

"Who is this?" Bev said through the radio. He looked between Nightwing and the cuffed man. "You, stop moving." He ordered Nightwing who slightly leaned forward to hear the radio better.

"_I'm one of the good guys_."

After this statement, there was a chuckle that emitted from the hand radio before it came to Nightwing who the person was. He could hardly believe it.

"Nite-wing," both Nite-wing and Nightwing simultaneously stated. Without waiting to hear more, Nightwing broke off into a run while Bev was distracted. The officer hollered after him, threatening to shoot but the vigilante quickly took to the rooftops with help from his grappling hook. Bev didn't bother to fire his firearm.

Once on the roofs, Nightwing took out a small computerized monitor, barely half the size of his palm, from within a compartment of his boot. He turned it on, pressed a few buttons and then read the screen. This monitor would pick up the radio waves and aide him in finding where the other hand radio was but more importantly, it would locate Nite-wing who held the hand radio.

'_What's he doing out of jail!?_' Nightwing screamed at himself as he broke off into a run towards the location the monitor signaled another radio was located. He hoped Tad hadn't done anything too horrific.

'_If anything's happened, it will be on you_.' The voice of Nightwing's mentor entered his mind.

"I don't need that right now!" Nightwing told himself before he leapt across the rooftops and descended down into the alley. He somersaulted thrice after he used the fire escape stairs to descend at least halfway down to the alleyway. Instantly after he landed on the pavement, he sprinted forward but abruptly halted before he emerged into the open streets. He remained back, taking in the scene before him.

"This can't be happening." O'Hara said, pacing in front of the convenience store with his hands rubbing his face. The police lights flared behind him as he shook his head. "This isn't happening." O'Hara continued. He suddenly halted and went to one of the patrol cars. He went to the rear door and cupped his hands over the glass, bringing his face closer to peer inside. He then went to the passenger seat and repeated his inspection. Displeased, he went to the other. "Thank you!" He announced. He tried the rear door but it was locked. He sucked his teeth. "Are you serious?" He complained just as another patrol car pulled up in front of the convenience store. Two officers emerged from within. It was Chase and Mick.

"O'Hara?" Chase shut the car door and approached the nervous off-duty officer.

"What the hell's going on?" O'Hara asked, turning to view the scene. "Two empty patrol cars wit' their lights flarin' on like this." He motioned the scene with his hand.

"We got a 10-13 for a 10-20 armed." Mick informed him, coming closer. "What are you doing here? I thought you worked 2nd watch."

"Yeah, I do, but I was suppose to meet my guy, Mullen, here." O'Hara spoke truthfully. "Wife's birthday, you know? He said he could help me out with a gift." He lied.

Mick eyed him, nearly sensing his deception. "This late at night?"

"Well," O'Hara quickly began. "What are you doing here?" Mick and Chase looked at one another before nodding. O'Hara's presence was of little importance at the moment.

"Patrol 596, this is 986 responding on scene to a 10-13, what's your location?" Mick called out through his hand radio. He waited for a response.

"_986, 596 answering...This is Bev. I'm heading eastbound along the Red Line North, with a purp._" Just as Bev gave his response he rounded the corner of the corner store and with some trouble, dragged his purp in cuffs. "Over here!" He hollered, clipping his radio back to his uniform. Chase jogged towards him to help with the unconscious purp.

"What'd'ja do with him?" Chase smirked. He grabbed the purp's arm to help carry him over to the police car.

"Wasn't me." Bev answered, nodding in gratitude for Chase's assistance.

"Oh?"

"Some tight-clothed vigilante. Didn't get too good of a look at him. Dang lights in this neighborhood." Bev complained. He took out his keys and unlocked the backdoor of his police car, shoving the unconscious purp inside. He placed the bag of money in the front seat.

"Where's Mullen?" O'Hara suddenly approached behind. "Can you open his patrol car?" He sounded possessed.

In response, Bev looked at him funny. "What are you doing here O'Hara? I thought you had second watch?"

"I do. Long story. Can you open it?" He rushed.

"No." Bev answered. "He has his own keys. But about him, I tried radioing him but someone else answered. I don't know where Mullen or whoever it was that answered is."

"Who answered?" Mick interjected.

"Someone calling himself Nite-wing." Bev looked amongst the three officers. "Ever heard of him?"

"Wait, you mean the one with the bird on his chest?" O'Hara wondered.

"Yeah, now that you mention it, wait no." Bev fumbled.

"What is it Bev, spit it out." Mick was impatient.

"The tight-clothed guy who knocked this guy out," Bev gestured to the purp in the backseat and continued, saying, "Had a blue bird thingy on his chest. That's...?"

"Oh, the one we saw." Chase looked at Mick who was very much displeased. "Nightwing. Back at the precinct. He said he was going to help out."

"But the one on the radio called himself Nightwing." Bev said. Mick shook his head.

"There's two of them?" Chase asked perplexed.

"They're both called Nightwing. Different spellings or whatever." O'Hara filled them in. "Both pains, but the one with the _blue bird_ on his chest is for the _most part_, what some would call _good_." O'Hara did a whole quotation attack with his first and middle fingers of both his hands. "I hate them both." He muttered, dropping his hands.

"So, where's the one on the radio who called himself Nightwing then? Cause, I lost the blue Nightwing. Ran as soon as he heard that other Nightwing respond on the hand radio." Bev informed them. "Do they work together."

"Don't think so." O'Hara answered.

"Mullen," Mick spoke harshly through his hand radio. "Where the hell are you?" The four quieted and awaited a response.

"You really need to lay off the donuts." Nite-wing grunted as he dragged two bodies around the corner, towards the police cars and officers.

The four officers abruptly turned. Even Nightwing, from within his alley still in hiding, flinched forward. But he remained hidden in the darkness. It wasn't his time to move just yet. He was fortunate that Tad had shown himself at that moment. Nightwing was about to depart to find the wayward boy when he then rounded the corner mere seconds ago.

Nite-wing exasperated a sigh and dropped the bodies, kicking one in frustration. "Fatty!" He complained.

"Who the hell are you?" O'Hara squinted. "Mullen?" Mick and Chase reached for their firearms cautiously.

Nite-wing tilted his head and stared at the four officers, confused for only a moment. He then reached down and lifted the larger of the two bodies and continued to drag it towards the officers.

"Stop. State who you are." Mick demanded.

"Nite-wing, I said." Nite-wing answered with slight annoyance, still moving forward. "Don't these walkie-talkie's work all around?"He threw Mullen's hand radio to the ground.

"This is the guy that answered Mullen's radio?" O'Hara asked, looking down at the radio and then at Bev who nodded slowly.

"Sounds like him." Bev affirmed. "Is that...?"

"The fat one is Mullen?" Nite-wing asked. "He got in my way." Mick and Chase approached the blonde-haired so-called vigilante slowly and in a quick motion—once they affirmed he had no dangerous weapon in sight—Mick violently shoved him away from the unconscious body. Chase quickly knelt on the ground and turned the body over. His hands instantly covered in blood.

"What the-? Guys, this is Mullen and I don't think I feel a pulse. We need a bus here, now." Chase said as he adjusted his fingers on Mullen's carotid artery. He could only say it was Mullen due to the uniform he wore and the body's heavier stature. It was left in a horrid state and it was too dark to properly confirm an identity.

"Dispatch, this is 986. I need a bus to this location: 1829 Stark Avenue. " Bev radioed.

"_Copy that 986, bus en route to your location, 1829 Stark Avenue. ETA 13 minutes."_

"Come on Dispatch! Get us something faster, we have an officer down here!" O'Hara yelled. Bev felt the same way but before he could relay O'Hara's message to dispatch, Mick stole their attention.

"Stop moving!" Mick struggled, trying to get Nite-wing's hands behind his back to cuff them together. "We're taking you in." Mick attempted to mirandized him, however Nite-wing flailed his arms, elbowing Mick in the jaw and causing the officer to draw back.

Once Mick was separated from Nite-wing, O'Hara removed his off-duty gun from its holster and without warning, fired. Nightwing watched wide-eyed as Tad doubled over as he cried out in pain, clenching his shoulder. O'Hara readjusted his aim and readied to pull the trigger again.

"O'Hara, what are you doing?" Chase questioned with slight anxiety. O'Hara drew his gun far too quickly, especially for being off-duty.

"O'Hara!" Nightwing quickly interjected. He leapt forward and stood immediately in front of Tad, acting like a shield. Tad didn't have a special uniform that could decrease a bullet's damage as he did. "Don't." He spoke boldly. Tad didn't deserve this, even if he did something terrible. "He's had enough." Nightwing wasn't going to allow O'Hara to gravely injure Tad, or worse, kill him.

"Where did you─" O'Hara shook his head, wasting the questions. With his gun accurately aimed between Nightwing's masked eyes, he said, "I have no problem shooting you. Step away."

Bev and Chase stood over Mullen's body, with their guns pointed at Nite-wing and Nightwing. Mick stood beside O'Hara with his gun also poised.

Nightwing looked amongst the four officers. _'This is probably another reason why Batman is so against guns_.' Nightwing quickly mused. The number of times he had firearms pointed at him this night was racking up quickly. He soon focused his thoughts. How was he going to convince these officers not to fire their weapons? He had to get Tad under control somehow. Perhaps injured, the sociopath would calm down. Nigthwing chuckled mentally to himself._ 'Keyword: Sociopath. Which means they don't calm down. They only get revved up for more. Especially Tad.' _Nightwing mused.

Behind him, Tad cleared his throat, trying to mask pained moans with nervous laughter. He heaved a few breaths and then clumsily staggered forward, steel baton suddenly poised and ready to pummel Nightwing from behind.

Nightwing read Tad's movements from the faces of Mick and O'Hara, which were shown from the flashing lights of the patrol vehicles. Nightwing knew he had to deal with Mick and O'Hara next for they were strongest in pressing him with their weapons. And knowing this, Nightwing also knew what was to come and readied himself as best he could.

_'This is going to hurt.'_ He mused for less than second. He quickly leaned forward, bypassing Tad's steel baton but catching O'Hara's bullet in the left shoulder, as he still shielded Tad. Nightwing was thrust backwards but used the momentum to his advantage. He rotated to his left, lowering his body and extending his left leg which knocked Tad's footing off. As he spun, Nightwing also released two wing-dings and these flew towards Chase and Bev who instantly lost grip of their guns. The officers gripped their hands painfully.

Tad fell to the ground, Bev and Chase, without their firearms in hand, posed no further threat, for the time being. With not much time left to recover, Nightwing grabbed Tad's steel baton and threw it towards Mick and O'Hara who both had to duck to evade, however Mick was slow. He was hit and fell over.

As O'Hara began to recover, Nightwing advanced towards him, kicking the gun from his hands and then punching him hard in the face. Mick quickly stood and used the butt of his gun to hit Nightwing but the vigilante was quicker. He evaded the attack by bending his knees. In this semi-crouched position it made it easier for him to spring forward and upward. With his knee raised high to his chest, Nightwing caught Mick's chin, rattling him and instantly knocking him unconscious.

_'That's one down_.' Nightwing mused as he spun. Bev and Chase scrambled for their weapons as Nightwing ran towards them. He closed in on Chase first who scrambled like a dog for his gun. Nightwing roundhoused kicked him, feeling only a tad sorry for it because Chase wasn't all that bad but was still a potential danger.

Next was Bev who gave up on his firearm and resorted to his nightstick. He rushed towards Nightwing who immediately revealed one of his Eskrima sticks. As Bev swung his nightstick, Nightwing used his Eskrima stick to redirect the nightstick away and with his opposite hand he grabbed Bev's wrist that held the night stick. Nightwing then pulled Bev towards him, using his momentum against him and striking Bev hard in the ribcage with his Eskrima stick. He then drew the Eskrima stick back to hit Bev's forearm. Bev had no control over his actions and dropped the nightstick. Nightwing then struck him in the jaw. Bev fell to the ground.

"Three down," Nightwing said aloud. He turned back to O'Hara and Tad. Tad was busily kicking O'Hara, hollering about how the officer had shot him.

"I'm the damn hero here." Tad said and with a grunt, sent a hard kick to O'Hara's chest. Angry with the police officers and Nightwing, Tad recovered his steel baton. He gripped his shoulder tight, the blood slipping through his fingers. He gritted his teeth and then spat. "I'm going to kill you!" He then began beating O'Hara with the piece of steel.

"Tad!" Nightwing shouted. He rushed Tad, knocking the baton from his hands effortlessly and then slamming him against the patrol car. Tad grunted and moaned in pain. "You have to calm down. You might have killed an officer!" Nightwing didn't know for sure if Mullen was dead or alive. All he had to go on was Chase's inability to find a pulse. "Think of the consequences!" Nightwing gritted his teeth, feeling the statement was for himself as well. "Tad, this isn't some fictional story you read in a comic book. This is real life!"

Tad struggled against Nightwing's hold but with an injured arm, he wasn't at full strength. Then it came to him. Nightwing had been shot. Tad spat in Nightwing's face and while he flinched and went to wipe his face, Tad punched his left arm. Nightwing grunted in pain but it wasn't enough to have him release Tad.

"Nice try." Nightwing said through gritted teeth. "A little nasty, but nice try." Nightwing cleaned his face and then spun Tad around. Yet, before he could restrain him, O'Hara was on his feet, again with his firearm aimed at the two.

"I won't stop pulling the trigger until both of you are on the ground." O'Hara threatened. Nightwing looked at him.

"Shouldn't you be wasted?" Nightwing questioned with a tone of annoyance. He couldn't believe O'Hara was the last officer standing while he had just come from drinking several rounds with his co-workers. He debated on whether it was admirable or frightening that O'Hara could drink that much and function better than the officers whose tour it was. Nonetheless, and more importantly, Nightwing felt a bit uneasy that he was fighting police officers, but in Blüdhaven, crooks and officers were nearly the same.

O'Hara cocked the gun, waking Nightwing from his thoughts. He would have to play it O'Hara's way until he could find an opening to cleanly settle this. That was, if Tad would go along with it. Tad was very unpredictable.

"Okay, okay" Nightwing turned to Tad. "Let's do what he says and we can get out of this quickly and most importantly, alive." Tad brushed Nightwing off but seemingly obliged as the two turned towards O'Hara, their hands slowly raising in compliance.

"Good." O'Hara breathed. "What's that you've got in your hands?" He questioned Tad.

The blonde-haired vigilante smirked. In his left hand he tightly gripped a small oval object. He then extended his thumb and a single metal pin fell towards the ground. Nightwing's eyes widened.

* * *

_| To be continued…_


End file.
